


Johnny the Frog Prince

by mitsukai613



Series: Harry Dresden in fairy tales [6]
Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next part in the fairytales series. This one is the frog prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Johnny the Frog Prince

                I woke up in Marcone’s house, in one of his beds. There are certain things I never thought I’d ever say, and that is at least in the top ten. Still, it’s the truth; I woke up in John Marcone’s house, and he was holding my hand again. I jerked it a little and his grip tightened, and I found myself too groggy with sleep and painkillers to manage much more than half-hearted tugs after that. I decided annoyed grumbling would be the best secondary option as I forced my eyes open. The lights were dim and comfortable, a surprising kindness that I actually hadn’t expected. A bandage was wrapped around my chest and my stomach, over my wounds, in something like a vice. Marcone was asleep in his chair beside me. I pulled my hand again. He matched my annoyed grumbling with his own and pulled my hand towards him. Apparently it made a very good teddy bear for John Marcones. I sighed.

                “Wake up, Marcone. I want my hand back.” He groaned and suddenly I was faced with green eyes again. He seemed to skip right over that stage of half-sleep that most people went through and go into the stage of full wakefulness. It was honestly ridiculously annoying. He dropped my hand like it was on fire and quickly hid the expression of… was that embarrassment? Well, I’d be embarrassed too, if I woke up holding the hand of my arch nemesis. Anyway, I pressed my newly freed hand over my angrily aching belly and stood. He jumped up too and was quick to lower me back down onto the bed. I glared.

                “Harry, please. If you move too much you’ll start bleeding again. My doctor informed me that you were lucky to not need a transfusion last night. We were close to ordering a test to see if myself or any of my people were a match.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.

                “Don’t call me that, scumbag.” It sounded strange to say that, somehow; like I shouldn’t anymore. Maybe it was because of all the times I’d let the him from my dreams call me Harry. I was starting to tread dangerous waters, I knew that. If I let this go too far, if I let myself enjoy those dreams too much, it would start getting hard to separate the dreams from the reality. “You said last night that you’d let me leave in the morning. Well, it’s the morning and I want to leave.”

                “I’d hoped that you’d have enough sense to stay a while.”

                “I don’t do sense.” He let out a frustrated sort of growl and I smirked. Apparently the time, and how short the time he’d been awake, were affecting him.

                “I realize. Won’t you at least let me offer you breakfast?”

                “You can offer all you want. I’d really rather not take it, though. I need to get home.” He seemed to want to shake me.

                “Is this about yesterday? That Warlock? I can promise you that I would not have done what I did had you not been at risk.” I shut my eyes and sighed because I knew that, I knew he hadn’t shot the man for nothing, and I wasn’t nearly as upset about that as I had been. To be honest, I was being snippy now because I was a little upset with myself, with the fact that I was accepting the dreams, with the fact that, had circumstances been just the slightest bit different, I could fall in love with John Marcone.

                “No. No, it’s not that. I know why you did it, I do, I understand. I could have handled it myself, though; I don’t think he would have killed me if you’d left the room. I think I could have talked him down. I’ve done it before. I’m not anymore upset with you over that than I am about anything else, though. I… I got over it, mostly. Hell’s Bells, to be honest I might have done the same thing, if places were rearranged. Last night was a fuck up in a lot of ways, though, and I’m annoyed with myself, so I’m being a dick. I can’t help it. I do need to go home, though.” There. I was being reasonable; he should appreciate it. I had said nothing that should upset him, and he should understand where I was coming from and let me go home.

                “Is taking help from me really that reprehensible to you? Please, Harry, just let me help you.” He was saying that a lot, lately. I thought, very suddenly, about that quote from Star Trek, about how let me help you was better than I love you, and snickered when I thought about how quickly he’d take it back if I told him that. Maybe I’d flutter my eyes at him too, and clasp my hands. Nah, he might take me seriously and then he’d throw me out, possibly with added injuries. I would really rather just walk out of my own accord.

                “I don’t need help. I can look after myself, I have for years.” Marcone pressed his hands into my shoulders to hold me still even as I tried to get up again.

                “You let your friends help you. Let me, just for a bit. Today. Let me feed you, and give you a place to rest while you heal.” I shook my head.

                “My critters need me, and I might get a case.” He finally seemed to give in.

                “Will you at least allow me to give you a ride home?”

                “Sure, why not? It’s not like I’m hiding where I live from you or something.” He looked vaguely relieved as he stood and helped me stand. He then proceeded to start attempting to dress me with clothes he had laid out on a dresser across her room. I stepped out of the way as he came at me with a shirt.

                “Harry,” he said, trailing off a little, apparently to show that he wanted me to stand still and let him put clothes on me.

                “I can dress myself, asshole. Where are my clothes anyway?”

                “Burned. They were quite bloody, and I assumed you’d rather not have them continue existing in such a state. My doctor, however, told me that it would be best for you to not move too much, meaning that allowing you to do this would be rather idiotic. Not that you would care. Still, please just stand still. I am not using this as some odd excuse to kill you, as I’m sure you believe.” Actually I just didn’t want him to touch me. It made me worry that I’d lose that barrier between us, one of the main ones that separated the real him from the one I’d come to know in a dream. Still, I didn’t want to explain that, so I stilled and let him put his shirt on me, although I did draw the line at him assisting me put in the damned pants. I did that all by myself. He did help with the pathetically necessary belt, though. Whatever. We walked down a flight of stairs (how had I gotten up there to begin with again?) and out the door, where he climbed into the driver’s seat of a car and gestured for me to get into the passenger seat. The fact that he sometimes drove himself around instead of having Hendricks do it all the time was the biggest shock of my otherwise normal day. 

* * *

 

                The night was far from normal, and to be honest, I didn’t expect it. Normally at least a week passed between the dreams, sometimes more, but now I was having one and I’d only just had the other the previous day. I had to admit that the bed I awoke in was the most comfortable of them all, though. It was a true princess’ bed, I decided, one for real life royalty rather than royalty deposed or future royalty. I hardly wanted to move from it, but once no one came in to give me a rude wake-up call I figured I had to.

                 I stood and found that it didn’t hurt, and when I glanced down at my stomach I saw no stitched up bullet holes or bandages. It was nice to move how I wanted, though, since my newest dress, which I found in an oversized wardrobe, was the most annoyingly overcomplicated… thing, I’d ever set eyes on. I found myself hating it automatically; I mean, there were bows, and ties, and lacy things, and a bunch of other stuff and it was pretty much awful. I fell over twice in my attempts to put it on (since there was nothing else, goddamn it) and decided that where once I’d thought my entity was taking pity on me, it now hated me even more. I glared at the wall until I finally managed to get myself totally dressed without hurting myself even more. I was pretty sure I deserved an Olympic medal by the end of it, by the way, because I was sweaty and tired and proud of myself. Anyway.

                I walked out of the bedroom barefooted because the shoes looked like murder even from across the room, and I hadn’t deigned the risk worthy of whatever reward that might await me. I found that I was in some place huge, maybe a castle, but the layout was pretty simple, seeing as how I was right in front of a long flight of stairs that led directly out an equally gigantic door. I took said stairs and walked out of said door, into a fresh, green lawn that screamed something worlds away from Chicago. It tickled my feet where I walked on it, and twigs and leaves caught at the ends of the fluffy, fluffy dress. I’m going to take this opportunity to tell you that the damned thing made me look like my ass was the width of a pick-up truck whilst the rest of me remained the same size as always. It was really stupid.

                My walk ended up taking me to a spring in the woods, once that flowed with cool, clean water and looked like something I’d find in the Nevernever. It seemed to call me to rest, so I did. I sat down beside it and shut my eyes, my hand, for one reason or another, reaching up to clutch at my pentacle. I turned it in my hand, warming the cool metal between my fingers, but suddenly I heard a voice, Marcone’s voice, calling for me to notice him, and jolted up. When I did, my hand jerked too, and my pentacle went flying into the spring from the now-broken chain. The fear I felt at that was visceral and deep because I’d promised that that pentacle would never, ever leave my side. I’d promised my father when he gave it to me, when he called it my mother’s. This would be the first time, even in a dream, that it had ever been anywhere but around my neck. I crawled forwards, the dress protecting my knees from getting scraped, and stared down into the spring.

                The water was clear, and I could see the pendant at the bottom, but the water was too deep for me to grab it, especially with my weight so unbalanced by my fancy new clothes.  Marcone’s voice sounded again, from somewhere to my side, but I couldn’t see exactly where it was coming from.

                “Why are you crying?” it asked me, and I touched my face, realizing that I was. I blinked them away because this was nothing to cry over, I was being childish and stupid.

                “Nothing,” I said, and shoved my hand into the water. The dress was quickly soaked to the shoulder, but I still couldn’t wrap my fingers around the thing. A frustrated noise slipped out of my throat. A frog suddenly appeared on a little lily pad floating by my head, and oh, hell, I was in the Frog Prince now, wasn’t I? Of course I was. I almost wanted to tell him that he’d get no kiss from me, even though that wasn’t actually how the fairytale went, despite how modern perceptions had changed it.

                “Do you cry for your charm? May I ask why it’s so special to you?”

                “It was my mother’s,” I said, “My father gave it to me after she died. It’s the most important thing in the world to me.” That wasn’t a lie; even in the real world, that thing was the most valuable thing I owned. I cared for it like I did nothing else because everything else I could replace, even if I wouldn’t want to. That was the only thing that there was only one of. Well, two, technically, if you counted Thomas’ matching one, but only one that I owned and I’d never take his from him.

                “You’d do anything to get it back, then?”

                “Of course I would.” The words fell naturally. They’d have fallen naturally if I was sitting by a river in Chicago with the real Marcone beside me, too, even though saying something like that then would be dangerous as all hell. There was no telling what the real Marcone would ask me for to get it back; probably my employment for the rest of my life. Or, the rest of his life, I guess. Whatever. Still, a long time. I had a sudden thought of this actually happening and imagined him calling for the river to be dredged to get the thing back. He probably would, if he thought he’d get something out of it. It was sort of funny, honestly. Snickering didn’t seem appropriate just then, though, so I didn’t. See? Self-control.

                “Lovely. I will help you, then, and get your pendant back for you, if you will but love me. I would like a place at you and your family’s table, a place to live, a place upon your bed. For this you will have your charm back.” I shook my head and squirmed a little farther forward. The water lapped at the side of my neck.

                “I don’t need help,” I said, and once more I felt the parallels slapping me in the face. Subtlety had apparently suddenly become beyond my malevolent entity. I sighed and reached even farther, felt myself tipping into the water.

                “Let me,” he said, “Or you’ll fall and be hurt.”

                “I’m fine,” I grumbled, and then promptly almost fell. I barely managed to rebalance myself on the edge of the spring. The whole top of my dress, and my hair, were dripping, and a cool breeze was starting to freeze me to the bone. Johnny Frog jumped into the spring, slapped my hand out of the way with a little froggy foot, and snatched up the pentacle. He didn’t hand it to me when I reached for it.

                “It was in my spring, and so it’s mine now. I will return it if you grant me what I asked for, however.” I glared at him because apparently this him was almost as much of a bastard as the original. Maybe it was a bad decision to decide that this one was okay to like and to love. Maybe only in certain incarnations.

                “I didn’t ask for your help.”

                “I did not give you help. I fetched the shiny thing from the bottom of my home. If you’d like it returned, then I’d like payment for it. I could ask for far more; for gold and for jewels and for money.” I gritted my teeth, but I couldn’t lose that pendant no matter what, whether dream or not. Dreams can affect reality, depending on their cause, and this was one bit of reality I didn’t want changed. It was my pentacle, the only thing I’d always had and therefore always called my own. I wouldn’t lose it, never.

                “Alright. You can live with me, and eat from my plate, and sleep in my bed,” I said, but to tell the truth, I didn’t mean it. I knew I didn’t, and I knew I wasn’t supposed to. I’d always thought the princess in this story was kind of a bitch, but hell, I hadn’t asked for his help. I hadn’t needed it and I hadn’t wanted it. He’d just given it to me and expected payment. He handed me the pentacle, and I stood and ran off before he could stop me. I heard him yelling for me to slow, but I ignored him and ran back to what was apparently my palace (and I can’t tell you how weird it felt for me, of all people, to own a palace, of all things). I was quickly ushered by a faceless butler who was only distantly familiar to a dining room, where I was seated on a high, plush chair. I saw my father across from me and felt that the table was an oddly intimate thing for so large a building. I didn’t complain, though, because he smiled at me and I felt like a four year old again.

* * *

 

                The moment didn’t last. We’d only just started to eat, to chat quietly like fathers and sons do about nothing in particular, when I heard something wet sounding smack against the door. Shortly after this noise I heard John’s voice call out from the same place.

                “Open the door, Princess, and fulfill the promise you made me! I returned your little charm! I want my rewards!” My father cocked his head, his eyes confused and gently probing.

                “Harry, sweet, who is that? Perhaps a giant come to steal you away from me?” It was said in an almost joking way, and I laughed just a little. I felt nervous, though, felt like I’d done something wrong. I hadn’t though. I hadn’t. I needed to stop having these dreams; maybe if I tried to hold myself separate, to make myself hate this John too no matter how much everything screamed at me to love him, I wouldn’t have to worry over slipping up with the real John.

                “A stupid frog bastard. My pentacle fell in the spring today, and I was getting it out myself, but he got it first. He made me tell him that he could come live here if he gave it back, in return for his help, but I didn’t ask for his help, so I left him there once I got my pentacle back.” My father sighed, and Marcone started yelling again.

                “A promise is a promise, little Princess! Come and fetch me as you said you would!” I tensed my jaw and stared down at my plate. It was made of gold and the opulence made me a little nervous. I fingered the pentacle and it wouldn’t get warm in my grip like it should’ve.

                “He is right, Harry. I always told you how good your word should be. Making a home for a little frog is not a challenge. Go fetch him; I’m sure he’s hungry after having walked such a long way.” I did it without argument because he was my father, even if he wasn’t really here, even if he was dead. There were very few people I was willing to listen to without complaint, and, lucky him, he was one of them. Marcone hopped into my hand and I stomped him over to the table, then dropped him onto it. He croaked quietly.

                “Thank you,” he told me, and I refused to answer. “May I eat of your food?” I pushed it towards him because I didn’t feel all that hungry anyway. “May I also have your name?” he asked as he ate clumsily, seeming to be trying to look normal and cool and suave even though he was a frog, and therefore nearly tumbling into the plate every few moments. It was actually sort of cute, and I couldn’t avoid the little smile I felt tugging my lips.

                These dreams were at least pretty accurate personality wise, I recognized, because that was exactly how the real Marcone would be too. The fondness was entirely unintentional, I promise, and it only served to prove how badly I needed to detach.

                “Harry,” I told him, and a frog smile came on his face. Even as a frog his eyes were brilliantly money green.

                “Harry,” he said, as if tasting it, “What a fitting name. Mine is John,” he said, and I nodded, tried to seem uncaring.

                “Weird name for a frog.” He only kept up that smile.

                “I suppose it is. Shall you carry me to your bed, now? I’d like to sleep.” My father gestured for me to do it, a rare frown on his face, and I guess I looked reluctant because he looked sort of disappointed.

                “You’re a good person, Harry. Good enough that I know you know what the right thing to do here is.” I picked John up, his skin clammy cold on my hand, and walked him up the stairs to the bedroom. I set him on the dresser in the far corner, but it had nothing to do with spite, I promise; no, it was just because the story told me I had to. I stomped over to the bed and plopped onto it, deciding that changing just then would probably be a really dumb idea. You know, maybe. Johnny hopped off of the thing and came over to me. I assumed he would probably like the extra speed being a frog gave him, if he was real. That’s really off subject, though, and I should probably keep on subject. It’s kind of weird that such a ridiculous situation can result in me still getting off subject, but that’s even more off subject, so there. Have I proved anything at some point or am I just babbling like a dumbass?

                “I’d like to sit upon the bed with you. Will you pick me up and place me on your pillow?” I felt something in me break. I hadn’t wanted his help. I never wanted his help and he kept giving it and he kept trying to force himself into my life just by virtue of already being there and it was awful. I picked him up and I tossed him towards the wall instead of onto my pillow. I didn’t have the heart to throw him hard enough that he really hit the wall hard, though, but he didn’t move when he hit the ground anyway. I was feeling guilty in seconds and I stood up and crouched down beside him. The little frog was breathing, but he wasn’t moving.

                “John? John, Hell’s Bells, I’m sorry. Wake up, come on, that was stupid and bitchy and mean of me and I’m sorry. None of this is your fault,” I whispered, “It’s all his, it’s all mine, you’re the only… the only blameless one.” It twitched and this was a fairytale, so I knew he’d be okay, but I was still nervous. It wasn’t dream John’s fault. It never would be. Dream John was just my escape, or something like it. I needed to appreciate that, to use it, to know it. At least for a while. At least until I woke up. At least until I could stop these damn dreams and stop this stupid risk. I settled him on the pillow and lay my head down beside him; I went to sleep soon after.

                I woke up and felt a hand on my cheek, but I didn’t open my eyes. The hand was gun callused and I recognized how it felt. John’s hand. He thought I was sleeping because he was petting my cheek softly.

                “So real... why do I have to suffer this way? It was so much simpler when you were only yourself on the surface. You’re so much like the real one. Why couldn’t you be? You scream your autonomy and yet you cry for me. I once loved these dreams, but now… I almost wish they’d stop, if they must keep reminding me of the fact that I’ll never have you.” My breath stopped. No. No, no, no. That couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. That was ridiculous. That could not be the real Marcone. Not him. Not… no. He fell silent and I opened my eyes about five minutes later and feigned shock that he was human. He smiled and his green eyes were wide and looked almost wet.

                “Good morning, Harry,” he whispered, “It seems you’ve broken the curse lain upon me by a wicked witch.” His voice was a little rough, and I couldn’t help but reach out and touch his arm. He felt as real as ever. Could he be? I couldn’t bring myself to ask, not after… not after all I’d said, all I’d done. This him needed to remain a dream.

                “Curse?” I whispered.

                “Yes. Long ago I was cursed by an evil witch, who bound me to that spring. Only you could have taken me away. I should like to take you back to my kingdom now, to have you be my bride. I hear my carriage coming up outside, with my most loyal servant, Hendricks, at its helm. Would you come with me?” I should’ve asked. I should have, I really should have, but I couldn’t. All I could do was pretend that I hadn’t heard what he said, that he was just a figment of my imagination like I’d always thought, and nod my head. He straightened the dress when we stood and he smiled and held my hand on the way out. My father gave us his blessing on the way out and Hendricks smiled when he saw John human and well again. His hand in mine felt normal and right and just as it had when I’d been on the bed in his home. I woke up the moment I climbed into the carriage, a choked gasp ripping up from my throat. My wounds hurt again. I realized that I hadn’t kissed him once that dream and wished that I had. 

* * *

 

                That day, I thought a lot. I thought about those dreams, mostly. I usually didn’t have very vivid dreams; nightmares, yeah, but not dreams. It was strange for me to be able to create things so solid, so real, and people were almost never that way for me. Usually they appeared as if they were under a veil, hazy and unclear, with fuzzy edges and whispered words.

                That meant that my malevolent entity was his too, and that opened up a whole world of possibilities for what it could be. Most of them weren’t good because there aren’t very many nice things that have the power to create a world and throw two sleeping minds into it. Whatever it was could be trying to hurt us, could be trying to teach us a lesson, could be trying to do any number of things. I resolved that the next time I fell into one of those dreams, I was going to say something to him, I was going to figure out if he was real too. If he was… well, we’d go from there. In the meantime, I needed to figure out how to make it convincing when I told him that I’d said and done and acted as I had only so I could get through the dreams and back home in my own mind.

                I couldn’t help but think he’d know that I was lying. I’d always been a bad liar, and he’d always been good at reading me. Entirely by accident, I’d started to fall for the John Marcone in my dreams, and now it was coming out that he could be the real one. It was a shame when the least romantic dream of them all was the one that was making me realize it. I glared at the wall and clutched my pentacle in my stiff, cool fingertips.

* * *

 

Marcone’s POV

                Something had felt different, at the end of that dream. There had been something oddly Harry in the dream caricature’s eyes, something I often saw in our day to day encounters. I was feeling quite nervous about it, honestly, nervous that something would change, that the dreams would stop, and though I’d said that I almost wished they would, I hadn’t meant it. I don’t think I could stand to lose that one connection that I’m able to keep between us.

                He’s still acting strange around me as well, although not so much so as before. He acts something like skittish, and tries to play himself off as being reasonable, but he’s not, not truly. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, but I didn’t feel like thinking too much. I hadn’t gotten to kiss him. I wished I had. I should have. Perhaps… I needed to ask him something. I needed to ask him where his pentacle came from. If he told me his mother, then I needed to speak with Gard. If the dreams were giving me accurate facts, then she needed to know, no matter how embarrassing it would be to mention them. Especially when she asked why I hadn’t told her sooner because then I’d have to tell her that I’d simply thought them to be fantasies before. I didn’t want to do it just then, though; I was tired, and I wasn’t certain that I could stand to hear him angry with me just then.

                I couldn’t help but wish that I’d get to keep the dreams, even if they were from something that wanted me dead. Despite how wistful, how sad they could make me, I looked forward to them. I looked forward to seeing Harry’s eyes fill with something other than contempt and fear when he saw me. The dreams were the only chance I had for that, as well as the only chance I had to see him smile. He didn’t smile much anymore, honestly. It was nice to see it. My own lips turned up at the mere thought.

                Perhaps one day we’d become friends, and I could tell him about these dreams and we’d share a laugh. That, I supposed, would be truly nice. And maybe we could go beyond that, from friendship, from those stories. Maybe I’d get to kiss him once for real and tell him just how much I loved him. Maybe he’d tell me the same. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I usually hated using so many maybes, but now it just made me laugh. I hoped for another sweet dream the next night.

 

            


End file.
